


The Hospital Visit.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Petya 'verse - All Petya Vorkosigan Fics [9]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe, Illegitimacy issues, Implied Torture, Marriage of Convenience, Those Damn Vorkosigans, Time Period: Reign of Gregor Vorbarra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Come back quickly, Miles. We're all falling apart without you here.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hospital Visit.

Just when Ivan thinks he is about to be ignominiously killed, or, at least, embarrassingly stunned, okay, possibly just embarrassingly lost and _then_ embarrassingly stunned for his efforts, his savior appears in a Vorkosigan House uniform. This is just like the time Miles had gotten Ivan lost in a treasure hunt in the forest, except Petya had had three-days growth of a beard then instead of an embassy. Also, Ivan'd been a lot shorter.

Petya is pacing the hallway with Colonel Vortala and looks as drained as Ivan feels. But he is, on second glance, yes, actually defending Mark's right to be in Vorkosigan House right now and not, say, locked up in an ImpSec cell while they investigate Uncle Aral's condition.

Ivan groans silently; he'd hoped that Petya, of all the Vorkosigans, would be the one to see through the clone delusion. He feels like shaking them all. Miles is out of his undergrown mind, Uncle Aral is being nostalgic, and Aunt Cordelia is _Betan_ , which is the only acceptable excuse for the mass delusion that Mark's a Vorkosigan, but Petya should be beyond that. He's the adult! He's the only one Ivan knows who could get Miles to shut up! If Petya believes it, they are all doomed. So very doomed. Ivan feels like shaking Petya extra hard and reminding him that Mark had intended to kill Petya, too.

Petya's properly paranoid. It should work. Although from the sound of it, it's not going to happen this time. Ivan grumbles under his breath.

Colonel Vortala spares Ivan a glance and Ivan settles against the wall, holding it up, or, rather, allowing it to hold him up. "We can continue this later."

"So long as you don't stage an invasion of Vorkosigan House to arrest Mark in the mean time, certainly," Petya says. "And, please, continue to consider the consequences of upsetting the Countess."

"I do," Vortala says. "Believe me, I do. But the Countess's feelings on the matter don't always outweigh security concerns. It's a risk, Piotr. And you know how I feel about playing games with security. I'd assumed we shared a philosophy about that, in fact."

"Your security risk," Petya says, "is my step-mother's acknowledged son. Familial obligations outweigh paranoid ImpSec obligations in this matter. I'll let Domestic Affairs put as many spies on him as they please, but I won't allow an arrest unless there's some proof, not simple suspicion. My father's words were that it was not Mark's fault, and I trust him to speak the truth. Don't you?"

"I hate your word games," Vortala sighs. "We'll finish this later."

"You live to serve," Petya says to him. "I know. It's not your fault."

Vortala curses at him under his breath as he walks away. Ivan hesitates, then says, "I'm with Colonel Vortala on this one, Petya."

"I don't disagree with him," Petya says. "But I don't disagree with my father. It puts me in an awkward position, you understand. And Alexei can't stage a hostile take-over of Vorkosigan House without Gregor's permission, and Gregor won't give it, not for this."

Yes, Ivan knows all about Gregor's share in the shared-delusion that is Mark Pierre Vorkosigan. "Am I the only sane member of this family?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Petya says. "Now come over here and sit down before you fall down. What did you do, run across the city?"

"Sort of," Ivan says. He lets Petya sit him down gratefully. _Thank you, my lord ambassador_. He's heard Petya's stories before about running all over Vorbarr Sultana in the aftermath of the soltoxin poisoning, and he swears he will never again doubt how exhausting it can be. And then he'd had to exercise family connections to blunder through the security screen around the Prime Minister. And then he'd gotten lost. Not his most shining hour. "But mostly this is panic."

"I understand." Petya sits down next to him and stretches his legs out. "There's a lot of that going around. You'll be able to chart Da's illness through the color of Commodore Koudelka's hair."

Ivan doesn't actually see Kou all that much around Headquarters, but if Petya wants to believe Ivan has a more important job than he actually does, Ivan isn't going to correct him.

ImpMil is quiet around them. Half of this wing had been vacated for the Prime Minister's security, and the complex is the third most secure structure on the planet, after the Residence and ImpSec HQ. But this is Barrayar. No one's safe anywhere, and that's nothing new. Safety is an illusion, never an absolute fact. You just have to keep blundering along like no one can kill you and hope that nobody does.

Petya rubs circles on Ivan's back as Ivan gets his breathing back in order. "He's going to be fine, the doctors say. And I spoke to Gregor when we were in orbit, waiting to land. He doesn't think Mark had anything to do with Dad's heart going."

"They shouldn't have been alone together," Ivan insists. "Mark is a trained assassin, he could have easily made it look like an accident. Don't tell me you've been in a room alone with him," Ivan says, suddenly alarmed. "Petya, I can't be Count Vorkosigan."

And of course Petya isn't _married_. That would be sensibly Old Vor of him, and for all that Petya is still living in another century half the time, he's apparently decided to embrace modernity and not have a sham marriage. For which Ivan is both thankful, because he used to have nightmares about Petya deciding to do what was good and proper, having been the Second, and marry his mother, and also alarmed, because it means that if Miles dies, Ivan's next in line for the Countship. Which is even more terrifying than the thought of Petya becoming his step-da.

And all that is beside the point that Xav's descendants are as close to the Imperium as you can get without actively challenging Gregor's right to be Emperor, and they're none of them having children until Gregor decides to do it first. It's just too damn risky to add more claimants to the throne with potentially a better claim on it than Gregor himself has. The situation is bad enough; they aren't going to be making it worse.

Although this paranoia has some very obvious downsides. If Gregor is trying to kill off the Vorkosigan family, Ivan thinks sometimes, he is doing a _very good job of it_.

"And you won't be, Ivan," Petya says. "I promise." He frowns. "Now, I don't know where Miles is, or when he's going to turn up. Illyan didn't sound hopeful in his report, but Miles has gotten himself in and out of worse situations, and I won't believe he's dead until I see a body."

Which they may not ever get. The cryo-chamber was empty. The body could be anywhere and they might not ever find it. They might never know. And that's the worst of it, the absolute worst of it. They might not ever know.

"But as it is," Petya continues. "If we must for now assume he's dead until proven otherwise, I understand where my duty lies in finding myself a new heir. I've already sent a message to your mother asking her to introduce me to suitable ladies at Gregor's Birthday and she's agreed. It's very short notice, but she assures me she will rise to the occasion."

Ivan groans. _So much for Petya being modern. One step forward, a million steps back_. Although it's going to be benefiting him greatly, so Ivan really shouldn't complain. Wince about it, yes. Complain, no. Because maybe if Ivan makes a fuss, Petya might decide not to do it, which would put Ivan in the position of possibly waking up one day to find himself confirmed as an heir's heir in a Countship inheritance line. The very thought is horrifying.

There really isn't any good answer here that doesn't insult everyone. This is worse than the time Gregor decided to give Ivan a heart attack by offering to suggest to Count Vorpatril that it would be in his political self-interest to make Ivan his heir. Gregor has a terrible sense of humor. He's worse than Miles.

Petya apparently takes that the wrong way. "Don't worry," he reassures Ivan, "I won't be making Mark my heir, not even for a moment, so in the event that he is angling to become Count Vorkosigan, I'm not going to be making it easy for him. And as for him as a member of the family otherwise," Petya shrugs. "Dad wants it badly. You know how he is about Komarr."

Of course Ivan does. Most of the planet knows how Count Vorkosigan feels about Komarr, and the ones who don't are infants and simply haven't been told yet.

"And so you're just shutting off the paranoid part of your brain?" Ivan asks. "Petya, please don't pick now to start being stupid." Because there is simply no excuse for active stupidity as well as a complete failure of adequate paranoia.

Petya laughs shortly. "I'm not, I'm being practical. And Cordelia does tend to be a good judge of character, and she vouches that Mark doesn't want to kill us all anymore. Now calm down, Ivan. Worrying about it won't change anything. Dad's going to be fine, according to the doctors, so long as he keeps his stress down."

"That's unlikely," Ivan says. "He'll probably try to order himself out of here as soon as he wakes up and give himself a heart attack in the process."

"I don't disagree," Petya says. "And neither does Gregor. We're working on a conspiracy to get him to retire as Prime Minister. He'll hate it, but he'll go along with it. And Gregor's transferring me back here to take up Dad's proxy."

Ivan has his mouth open to argue about how utterly unlikely it is for Uncle Aral to ever willingly give up political power when he's completely sidetracked. "His _proxy_? There is no way he's going to agree to that."

Petya smiles grimly. "We're going to hit him over the head with it, hard. Gregor's considering making it an Imperial order. Dad got himself into such a state that he's _here_. He needs to slow down. We're his family and we're going to make sure he does."

Ivan waves a finger at Petya. "No. This is never going to work. You have to realize this is never, ever going to work. Uncle Aral has his finger on Vorbarr Sultana. You'll have to do something drastic, like put him on a different _planet_ , to get him to give that up."

"Which is exactly what Gregor is planning," Petya agrees. "The Viceroyalty of Sergyar is soon to be unfilled."

Oh, right, because they can't give the Butcher of Komarr the _other_ Viceroyalty. "Gregor calls that a retirement?"

"We're calling it the best we're going to get him to agree to," Petya says.

They have a point there. Except for the obvious, which is Petya. Ambassador Petya. "But what about your career? You can't very well be His Imperial Majesty Gregor Vorbarra's Ambassador to _Barrayar_."

"I'm taking a promotion," Petya says.

"To what," Ivan asks the ceiling, "a minor deity?"

"Tempting," Petya says, "but no. I'm getting the Ministry of Galactic Affairs. That was the entire delay in getting me here after I first heard about Miles, all that emergency diplomatic channel back and forth with Gregor. I'm sure you got some of the chatter through Ops channels."

Ivan does not say anything, because that is completely true and he had had no idea of how to tell Petya that he's been intercepting some of his mail and passing it along to the appropriate security catch nets. There are a lot of people professionally interested in and potentially alarmed by any uptick in chatter from Escobaran emergency channels. Channels which are not really meant to be used for what Ivan suspects Petya and Gregor have been using them for. _Well, they_ are _for fastest-possible communication between the Emperor and his chosen representative._ Though that communication is supposed to be about Escobar, dammit, not Miles Vorkosigan and his habit of getting himself into trouble.

"If I'm needing to be fathering an heir, I need to be on planet and close to the District," Petya says. "Gran'da got that part right, at least, showing the heir off as often as possible. Acting-Ambassador Vorpinski and I crossed paths in orbit over Komarr and we did the formal handing off there; he'll be confirmed as soon as he lands on Escobar and endures the formal presentation to the Escobaran government. Gregor messaged me while we were in orbit, waiting to land, to tell me about Dad and confirm my promotion. It'll be announced right before the Birthday Review. We're telling the higher-ups at the Ministry tomorrow. It shouldn't be a problem; I've worked with most of them over the years and they all know me and my record."

"All that and Uncle Aral is getting a Viceroyalty as a retirement." Ivan sighs. "Vorkosigans. Only Vorkosigans. "

"I can't speak for Sergyar," Petya says, "though I know that Viceroy Voraiken has been complaining about it for months and begging to come home. But since Vorhovis was named Lord Auditor, Gregor has been, he says, keeping it open to try to shove me into it, and he is willing to use this as an excuse and he is very happy, Lord Vorkosigan, that I am giving him permission, nay, asking him, to let him promote me back to the capital. His words. So, if you must blame anyone, please, by all means, blame the Emperor. Gregor seemed very, very happy that I was asking him for an Imperial favor. I can't imagine why."

Ivan whimpers.

"Cheer up," Petya says, patting Ivan's knee. "I'm not taking a promotion to Count Vorkosigan. And I'll be living in Vorkosigan House, so if Mark sticks around, I'll be able to keep a closer eye on him. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Ivan nods, not daring to open his eyes. Damn his Vorkosigan cousins. They have all the luck in the universe. Except, he thinks glumly, for Miles. Miles, who no one, not even Illyan, knows where he is. Miles who could be dead right now and they might never know for sure.

"I want Miles back," Ivan says miserably, and is rewarded by seeing a flash of Petya losing all control. Ivan takes in a shuddering breath. He's never seen his cousin look so _shattered_.

"We have to take what we can get," Petya says softly. "And hope the rest will sort itself out in the end."

"I don't like doing nothing," Ivan says. "I don't like waiting in the dark for Miles to show up at the last minute before I drown."

Petya gives him an assessing look. "You're in Ops," he says. "When have you-- oh, never mind." Petya waves it away with a sharp upward motion. "The more I find out about Miles's career, the less I want to know."

It occurs to Ivan that he knows nothing about Petya's career that Uncle Aral didn't boast about over dinner, or that he hasn't managed to pick up by osmosis in reading over reports from whichever embassy Lord Vorkosigan has been gracing with his presence this tour. The diplomatic services have kept Petya moving around, Ivan realizes suddenly, and, abruptly, he wonders if there's more to Petya's ImpSec file than him being the Prime Minister's son and therefore being a political person of interest. Diplomatic Corps used to mean spy, after all. "Petya," Ivan asks carefully, "is there anything ImpSecish going on that I should know about?"

Petya doesn't even pretend to not understand what Ivan means. "Not that I know about, Ivan, and that's the truth. And even ImpSec would think twice before planting a deep cover agent as Ambassador to Escobar," he says, quieter. "So, no. I don't know more about Miles than you do. In fact, you probably know much more than I ever will."

"You have higher security clearance than I do," Ivan says, noticing that Petya didn't actually deny being an ImpSec agent. Sometimes Ivan wonders if everyone but him spies on everyone else. And then he tells himself to stop being so paranoid. There are limits to even ImpSec's reach. Just because his mother invited Captain Illyan to dinner doesn't mean anything. They're not the Ministry of Political Education, for god's sake. ImpSec runs on paranoia fumes, not political intrigue.

"I can read uncensored files," Petya says. "That doesn't mean I make a habit of it. I don't know what ImpSec knows and I don't know where Miles is. I wish I could give you reassurances, but I won't lie to you, Ivan. I know very little, and I suspect that some of what I do know is only the official lie, not the classified truth. The only thing I can give you right now that I think might be of any help is the advice your father used to give me."

Ivan straightens. Petya is never, ever the one to instigate conversations about Ivan's father. Petya's always said that Ivan has to be the one to start it, to ask for information, to make it clear that he wants to know. And that does make sense, when Ivan thinks about it. Petya only ever had a mother the same way Ivan's ever had a father, through other people's memories. Ivan wonders how many dead mother stories Petya had had to deal with, if they'd ever made him angry the way it sometimes made Ivan, when people were describing their friend when Ivan really wanted them to be describing _his father_.

But Petya's always been a good source of information. He'd told Ivan, when asked, that he's tried to do for Ivan what Padma had done for him, to be there and be a cousin first, a friend second, and a surrogate parent never. Ivan has enough surrogate parents, thank you.

But at least people remember that Ivan doesn't have a father. Sometimes, Ivan thinks, with Uncle Aral's remarriage, people would completely forget that there had been a first marriage if Petya wasn't around to remind everyone about it. And Petya's very rarely around. It had always been a treat when Lord Piotr would return from his galactic adventures and they would go to Vorkosigan Surleau and ride horses or go fishing, all under the watchful eye of Petya and either one platoon or two of ImpSec guards, depending on if Gregor was there, too.

One well-placed bomb at Vorkosigan Surleau during one of those summers, Ivan thinks, and you could have killed the Emperor and four possible successors. No wonder Petya had barely been allowed on planet during the regency. It had probably cut ImpSec's nightmares in half.

"What did he say?" Ivan asks, because Petya might bring it up on his own, but he probably wouldn't actually say, if Ivan didn't indicate that he wants to hear details.

Petya gives Ivan a reassuring smile that is utterly unconvincing. "He always told me to be careful. He said, get caught up in life all you want, but never forget to be careful."

Oh, that's it? Ivan frowns. _Great advice, Da. Tell a paranoid that he's right to be paranoid._ Unless Petya's caution is actually Da's fault. In which case, Ivan would like a word or two with his dead father.

"The first time...," Petya starts, then clearly tries another track, "I remember one time, it was before Komarr, after your father's first tour. They were putting out brush-fires, that kind of thing, but knowing the great admiral, half of it was to cover recon for the invasion. Padma'd gotten his Lieutenancy and a different berth and Da went off with new baby officers to train; I don't think he spent more than a week at home that time, his leave was eaten up by duty. And Padma came. I remember, I'd sent him a message earlier, when they were still in orbit. And Padma came and we went to visit Xav's grave and he told me... he told me to be careful. Never forget to be careful, no matter what happens, because nothing happens suddenly in the night that hasn't been planned for months. So no matter how safe you think you are, keep an eye out and never stop being careful."

Petya rubs the inside of his wrist. "Dammit, Padma," he murmurs, sounding a thousand miles away and years in the past. "I told him, and he was dead within a decade, damn it all, that as a family, we, Dorca's descendants, need to do better about living long enough to see our children even to adolescence."

Oh.

Oh. It's about that, then.

It's about Padma's parents dying when Padma was a baby, and Padma dying before Ivan was born, and Serg dying when Gregor was four. It's about Uncle Aral growing up without a mother and brother and sister. It's about Mother taking Ivan to burn an offering for Da where he was murdered, and Petya taking Ivan to burn an offering for Xav's family, with the row of markers with the same death date.

No, Ivan supposes. You really can't talk about Miles possibly dying young without talking about everyone else in this family who did the same. And who they'd left behind to clean it up. And the one who'd caused it.

And, well, then you start to talk about Serg, and that's something that Ivan knows well enough that you don't ever talk about. Reputation is a Betan liar. People think Miles is a mutant, and he isn't. People think Uncle Aral ordered a massacre, and he didn't. People think Serg is a war hero, and he's not. Ivan's known that for a long time.

He'd put some things together from little hints his ma had dropped, and then from things he'd overheard, drunk off-hand comments, and no one who knew Serg ever talked about him. It just wasn't done. And if Prince Serg had been a great war hero, then people who'd served with him would brag about it, the way men who'd been with Uncle Aral at Komarr talked about it. Escobar was a terrible defeat, but Prince Serg's death was supposed to have been some glorious hero's death. Except that no one talked about it.

And no one who knew Serg _ever_ talked about him. Ivan figures it has to do with them not wanting to break the illusion that Serg's death had been a tragedy. And it wasn't any secret that what there was from Serg's life wasn't very complimentary. It was his death that people were supposed to remember, not what he'd done while he still breathed, because death cleans honor, and Serg's death was supposed to have washed away everything else, all he'd done when he was alive, and Ivan knew about that well enough.

And the reputation clean-up job that someone had done, maybe Emperor Ezar or Uncle Aral or Captain Illyan or ImpSec, whoever it was, they'd spent a great deal of effort cleaning up Serg's public memory, so it would be a shame to puncture a hole in it. And it'd worked pretty well; it's not their fault that Ivan's spent his life hiding under chairs and tables while the adults talked and drank and forgot that little kids can pay attention and know how to think. It must have taken a lot of effort. It would be a shame to waste it.

So Ivan'd had the outlines of it, and figured that maybe the Betan holovids had something of the right idea about Serg, though they were obviously exaggerations, they had to be, right? They were Betans, they didn't understand the concept of not lying, it all had to be embellished, and then Elena Bothari had said that, actually, parts of it were worse than what the Betans said, because the Betans were talking about war crimes, and what Elena's mother, _her mother_ , had been describing was Prince Serg and Admiral Vorrutyer as Barrayaran monsters. And it didn't take a Milesian genius to realize that they didn't learn their craft during one war.

So Ivan understands completely why people who were there don't talk about it. He doesn't want to talk about it himself. And if there's one thing Ivan knows how to do, it's how to not talk about things. He thinks he's better at it than some ImpSec agents. It's not quite a point of pride, but if he's going to pride himself on anything, it's making people think he doesn't know things that he does. It's saved his life more times than he really wants to keep track of.

And if this is about Serg and things no one ever talks about...

Because Admiral Vorkosigan's masterful retreat from Escobar, says everyone, was what had led him to becoming the Lord Regent. Which had led to Vordarian's revolt. And that had led to Ivan being born already fatherless.

And Petya has always been careful when talking about Padma Xav Vorpatril. And Petya actually remembers the Ministry of Political Education and what use they'd been put to by Serg. Mother had once let it slip that Da had been taken in the middle of the night and chewed up and spat out, before Escobar. Petya had been a cadet then. Old enough to be chewed up, too. And spat out just as hard?

Gregor had already been born by then. Maybe Serg had wanted to make sure Padma and Petya didn't have designs on the throne, without going to Yuri's extent for it. Or maybe he'd just wanted to make a point to them.

Ivan tells himself sternly to stop being morbid.

"You can't blame Yuri for Serg," Ivan says. "Except genetically, I suppose."

"I blame Serg for Serg," Petya says, eyes still focused on the past. "And I thank my grandfather that I can't blame him for me."

Ivan's eyes go wide. Okay. _That_ story, he's never heard. "What?"

"He did what he could to keep me away from court," Petya says softly, like there's no one around to hear it, not even Ivan, no one but Petya and his ghosts, "he said it was no place for a child. Which he was right about, but that couldn't have been his only reason, although maybe... he'd certainly not kept his own children away from Yuri's court, and we both know how that ended. I think he had Serg pegged from the start as a bad influence and time just bore him out. Gran'da had enough trouble keeping me away from, well, other bad influences I was related to. Later, I became exceedingly grateful for his reputation as a stodgy, conservative Old Vor. When Da was away, it was so easy for everyone to see me as General Vorkosigan's obedient grandson, not Admiral Vorkosigan's politically charged son. Until my father started picking fights with the Ministries, I think half of Vorbarr Sultana thought I actually was Piotr's son, or was close enough. A third son for old Piotr in all but fact."

From what Ivan knows of Petya's childhood, that doesn't seem entirely like the wrong assumption to make. He's pretty sure it's actually true.

"But you have to hand it to Gran'da, he did it very smoothly and managed to contrive some faultless excuses. He liked to show me off around the District and it conveniently always managed to overlap with the Midsummer season when I would have been expected to attend appropriate Vorish gatherings that would have included royalty, included Serg. These excuses just so happened to magically vanish the moment Serg deserted the aristocratic Vor gatherings for his ministerial crony parties."

Old General Piotr was never exactly known for having the moral high ground, or seeking it. He'd been ruthless. He'd tried to kill Miles even after he'd been born. He once commented that he'd always wanted to be a sniper, but didn't have the math, so he'd stuck with the old ways instead. Which makes Ivan really not want to know how bad Serg had been, if the old Count had thought Serg to be too horrible an influence to subject his perfect grandson to.

"Keeping me away from court didn't mean, of course, keeping Gran'da away from the Emperor. He even came to visit once, I remember. I must have been six or seven. No, I was six; Prince Xav had just died. I remember the guards. They seemed impossible, like statues, but statues that would happily kill you. And for all that I saw Serg at parties at the Residence, I don't think I spoke to him alone -- not exchanging polite Vorish greetings, but actually having a conversation with him -- more than three times in my life. For whatever reason, at whoever's advice, he kept away from those damn Vorkosigan cousins who had overthrown a ruling Emperor, and your father, too. Serg was barely eight years older than me, closer in age to me than Padma, but I saw Padma whenever we were in the same city, if only for lunch or coffee and him imparting some second-hand advice from Dad or remembered advice from Prince Xav. Prince Xav said once--," Petya shakes his head, clearing it, like he's finally realizing he's speaking out loud and not murmuring to himself in his head. "We have to let the dead bury the dead. Otherwise they bury the living," he finishes grimly.

Ivan knows that look. He's seen that look. He's seen it in Kou, when Kou didn't think the kiddies were looking, when he and Miles had spied on Kou and Uncle Aral when they would talk about old times. He's seen it in Gregor, those times when Ivan was pretty sure Gregor would have preferred to sit in on Kou and Uncle Aral's conversations rather than try to explain to Miles and Ivan about what had happened deep in guerilla territory, when Petya had protected Gregor with ruthless efficiency.

This is going nowhere good, very quickly. Ivan feels an urge of panic in the back of his head. Time to change the subject, and fast, before Petya can forget himself even more.

"Vordarian tried to finish Yuri's massacre. The Escobarans helped," Ivan says, and hopes he's stumbled on a way to get Petya into a ramble about something else. "What, uh, did the Escobaran government think about having Admiral Vorkosigan's son as the ambassador?"

"It's been thirty years," Petya non-answers. "It's been worse. I remember, at the beginning. I couldn't be assigned to Beta Colony or Escobar or half the Hegen Hub and certainly not Cetaganda or Komarr. I think they threw me to Earth because they had no idea what else to do with me. Too politically dangerous to keep on-planet and even more politically dangerous off-planet. There were times when I wished I had someone to grumble to about the waste." Petya cuts himself off again, then chuckles lowly. "I'm sorry, Ivan. My mind is too much with the dead today."

"'s okay," Ivan mutters, not sure what else to say. "Miles will be okay. You said so yourself. And Uncle Aral will be okay. He's survived worse than a bad heart."

"His death warrant was signed by Yuri Vorbarra," Petya says. "I learned that young and more than anything, that was what taught me what it meant to be Vorkosigan. We commit no treason to Barrayar, but Barrayar is treasonous to us. My grandfather nearly died fighting Cetagandans so Dorca could rule, and then lost his wife and his heir and his daughter to Dorca's son. My father spent two years in a guerilla civil war to put Ezar Vorbarra on the throne and then gave everything he had to Ezar and Gregor after him. And it's resulted in, well, this. The Vorbarras are not kind to the Vorkosigans."

Ivan shifts uncomfortably.

"But we live to serve," Petya says, his lips curling into a bizarre half-smile. "Prince Serg ordered me tortured once, did you know? Uncle Ges stopped him, told him I was still a boy and untried, that he should wait until I was of age before doing anything. He didn't tell me, I guess he was waiting until the most advantageous time to let me know and put me in his debt. I found it in an ImpSec report years later. Right there in front of me, orders from a Vorbarra to the Ministry of Political Education for me to be, ah, politically educated. Forcefully. Reminded what happened to those who tried to usurp the throne. I contemplated sending Illyan a note, but didn't want to bring it to his attention, if he hadn't known about it. Negri... Negri had all the documentation anyone could have ever wanted to have Prince Serg declared unfit to rule by the Counts. We're lucky we avoided another civil war." Petya's smirk grows more disturbing. Ivan is reminded strongly of Donna Vorrutyer in one of her more horrifying moods. "Avoided, ha. We avoided Serg Vorbarra's civil war. We got Gregor Vorbarra's Pretendership war instead. Small favors."

"Did they?" Ivan asks, despite his better judgment telling him not to poke Petya in this kind of mood. He really, really hopes the bugs aren't running. Speaking sedition is one of those things that sounds easy to not do, but when your family is the Emperor, family griping can take on a whole new meaning. "When you were of age?"

Petya shakes his head. "No, Escobar intervened. When I came of age, the War party was working up to Escobar and they didn't have time. I wasn't taken in the night, not like Padma-- you, uh, you know about that, right?"

"Yes."

"They couldn't pull me like that," Petya says. "I was at the Academy, it would have been too conspicuous, my-father-the-Conqueror-of-Komarr would have found out and there would have been an inquest. They grabbed me out of class instead, gave the Academy some excuse. Probably a highly transparent excuse, but why would the Academy care or dare to argue with the Prince? And then they emptied me out. Just fast-penta, they didn't hurt me. Just humiliated me. But Padma's testimony and mine agreed, it seemed, so they didn't come back. Or maybe Ezar took notice... it's not something I like to think about. Padma and I compared notes later. He'd been on leave at the time. It got messy for him, not just fast-penta, there were scars. But luckily, Serg and Uncle Ges's obsessions with me were at cross-purposes. Serg hated my father and Uncle Ges..." Petya suddenly stops completely, like he's tripped over a wire and known he's gone too far and has no idea how to get back. "Uncle Ges had a different obsession," Petya finishes carefully. "And he had decided to wait until I was of age to mold me into his successor. For which I am thankful every day of my life."

Ivan, if he'd ever considered it in the past, would have decided that he'd never wanted to know what could break through Petya's self-control. The fact that it's Miles probably dead and his father almost dying... yes, Ivan thinks, he really didn't want to know about that. Seeing Petya vulnerable is terrifying.

Petya stares at Ivan for a long moment, obviously seeing Padma's son instead of little Ivan-you-idiot. "That entire time was a political nightmare. My father was picking fights with the War party and almost got killed by his own men, your father was trying to stay out of politics and wanted to start a family and give his children the life he never had, and I was hoping to be the first Vorkosigan in three generations to _not_ fight a ground war before my twenty-third birthday. At least my father got a wife and a son out of the whole mess."

Ah, yes. Miles. It all comes down to Miles, doesn't it? Why Ivan had fought his way to ImpMil, terrified that Mark had succeeded. Why Petya had decided to forget that he hated Vorbarr Sultana and asked Gregor for an Imperial favor to bring him home as soon as possible. Why Uncle Aral, who'd weathered sixteen years as Regent and a decade as Prime Minister, had finally chosen this moment for his heart to fail him. Miles drives them all as crazy as he is and he's managing to do it without even being here.

Miles is clearly very talented. The little maniac.

 _Come back quickly, Miles. We're all falling apart without you here._

Ivan reminds himself that he's a Lieutenant and an officer and a grown-up, not six years old and caught poking through Petya's love letters. He doesn't entirely succeed. "Petya," he says as carefully as he can manage, like he's trying to diffuse a bomb, "did someone slip you fast-penta when you came in?"

Petya rests his head back against the wall. "I wish," he murmurs. "It would make things easier. I could blame someone other than myself. Direct my energies towards being angry with them, instead of castigating myself for letting this get so far. I should have come home. I should have turned down Escobar. Cordelia told me that he was planning on retiring three years ago and giving it all to Quintillan. I should have come home then, especially when Quintillan died and Da never ended up stepping down. I should have taken my retirement and returned to the District, to my responsibilities as Vorkosigan, instead of blinding myself that I still had time to keep running away from home."

"Uncle Aral will survive," Ivan says, "you said that."

"He will survive," Petya agrees. "But this just killed the Prime Minister. I wonder if Da realizes that yet. He must. If I'd been here... at least I could reassure Da that this won't damage his coalition, because I could be shoving into the Counts right now and go elbows flying with the best of them, to keep everything he's fought so hard for, to make sure nothing slips through and falls apart."

Oh, of course. Ivan shouldn't be surprised. Of course Petya is better briefed on current political in-fighting than Ivan is, despite Petya living on a different planet. Although Ivan suspects that it's his own fault, for not paying enough attention.

But fish don't pay attention to water, Ivan insists to that nagging voice in his head. He's Vor, assigned to Imperial Service Headquarters, living in Vorbarr Sultana, cousin to the Emperor. If he paid more attention to politics than absolutely required, he'd probably flop around uselessly, like a clown.

And get a lot of attention, from ImpSec and otherwise. Ivan's current security protection, compared to others, is pretty laughable. And he'd like to keep it that way. His _mother_ has more security minders than Ivan does. It's a point of pride, really.

"You're going to have his proxy," Ivan says. Then he frowns. "Um, not going to. You have it right now, don't you?"

"I can speak with his Voice and give his vote, yes," Petya says. "Which, believe me, is going to make things interesting in Joint Sessions. I wish Miles were here. I could pass the proxy to him during Joint Sessions instead of having to be two people at one time." He glances at Ivan, with a look on his face that Ivan knows to fear. "Ivan, you're a cousin."

"A Vorpatril!" Ivan insists. "I can't be a Vorkosigan voting deputy!"

"Actually, you can," Petya says. "But it's moot at this point; the Count would have to appoint you his Voice with his own breath and the Count is indisposed at present. Damn him, he knows not to strain himself, he knows not to go anywhere without his comm, especially not on a hike. I don't know what he was thinking, but I'll bet it was some kind of nostalgia nonsense."

Oh, Petya cannot even pretend to be ruthlessly practical when it comes to Mark. Not when he was just protecting him from the wrath of ImpSec. Ivan doesn't know who Petya thinks he's fooling. Maybe just himself.

"And what do you call you telling Alexei Vortala to keep his filthy hands off Mark?" Ivan asks. Because if Petya is going to be self-delusional, Ivan doesn't even want to be on the same planet. The headache would follow him around incessantly. "Other than some kind of nostalgia nonsense?"

"Being obedient to my father," Petya says, but he's smiling a little. "All right, Ivan. I concede the point. We're all out of our heads when it comes to family. Happy?"

Not in the slightest, but Ivan lets it go. Then he frowns. "Why were you telling that to Alexei Vortala anyway? I thought he was in counter-intelligence."

"From what I can tell, he was," Petya says. "Not is. There's some kind of minor shake-up going on in ImpSec. Gregor touched on it briefly when he briefed me, but didn't explain it too much, other than that Illyan's playing games with his chain of command. Well, Illyan's spent decades trying to streamline ImpSec from the spymaster's nest it was back in the bad old days into a galactic organization, so I suppose this is just one more step in that direction. And I'm not complaining. It means I get to deal with Alexei Vortala, who I can reliably lean on to do things my way, instead of whoever is their current head of Domestic Affairs. I'm not sure who he is, come to think of it. My knowledge of the ImpSec hierarchy is terribly out of date. That's going to be something I'm going to have to brush-up on when I become Minister. But, other than the Galactic Affairs hierarchy on planet, that's relatively low priority. I'll have a lot more to keep me busy in the near future."

The implications of Petya becoming the Minister of Galactic Affairs are starting to sink in. Hard. "You're really going to be a Minister," Ivan says wonderingly. "That's... that's absurd, Petya."

"Oh, I know." Petya sighs. "I can't believe the things Gregor talks me into. It sounds like a good idea at the time, and then when I'm walking away, I realize that he's just made me agree to become an ambassador. And now a Minister. On the bright side," he says brightly, "there isn't much more he can do to me after this."

"Didn't you say it was an Imperial favor?"

"I thought it was." Petya looks concerned. "Gregor's getting too subtle in his old age. Damn him, I think he set me up for it."

"I think you let him set you up," Ivan says, because he has no idea what's been going on between Gregor and Petya about this, but he'll say anything if it means he'll get Petya to admit to being outmaneuvered.

Petya just looks troubled. "I hope not, Ivan. My ambition... well, I don't like to show off my exploitable weaknesses. And I didn't think career ambition was one of them. I don't particularly like the thought that I've been fooling myself for this long."

Oh. Um. Maybe this was a bad idea. "I don't think people would call you ambitious," he says. "Although I don't think people call you much of anything. Either you have really great contacts with the ImpSec agents on rumor patrol, or you're just overshadowed by Uncle Aral and Aunt Cordelia and Miles, because you're kind of bland. Even the really scandalous ones don't call you anything other than a notorious homosexual." _Which he is_.

"Which I am," Petya agrees. "And I still don't know how that happened. I turned around one day and suddenly everyone knew. Or, rather, it was an open secret that my ImpSec contact said that most people didn't know, but those who did, heaped a lot of scorn on those who hadn't figured it out. Strange sort of open secret. But that was years ago, so I suspect it's everywhere now."

"You seem remarkably okay with this," Ivan ventures.

Petya shrugs. "It remained a secret a lot longer than I ever thought it would. And I have to be realistic about this. It probably only stayed quiet because I was off-planet so much. And now I'm moving back to Vorbarr Sultana. And, of course, now I'm in a position where it could hurt me." He sighs. "It's unpleasant, but it might even make it easier for me to be upfront with the woman I'll have to marry if Miles doesn't decide to still be alive."

"So you're not just going to have a sham marriage," Ivan grumbles. "You're going to have an _open_ and _public_ sham marriage."

"It's not the Time of Isolation, Ivan," Petya says. "We have uterine replicators. It makes things infinitely simpler."

"Of course it does," Ivan says. "And you... um." There is no good way of saying this. No way to not insult Petya to rage and beyond. "Um," Ivan finishes definitively.

"Yes, I have no intention of forswearing my vows to my wife," Petya says, Old Vorishly. "The last thing the Vorkosigan reputation needs is more extra-marital affairs," he continues, more modernly. "They never end well."

"I don't think," Ivan says carefully, "you need to swear. Um. That. I mean, legally, all you need to do is publicly announce your marriage. This is Barrayar; you marry yourself and you can do it however you please. You don't become unmarried if you don't do it the right and proper Old Vor way. Betans who move here don't suddenly stop being married, and I think their marriage vows consist of 'hey, would you like to enter into a partnership agreement' and nothing more."

"It's not exactly that," Petya says, proving to Ivan for the millionth time that having a conversation with Petya is a bit like banging your head against a wall and sometimes about as edifying, "and when they become Barrayaran subjects, they have to certify that they consider themselves to be married as Barrayaran law understands it."

"I don't care about Betan civil contracts," Ivan says. "I really, really don't. And you're ignoring my point."

"I would know," Petya says abruptly. " _I would know_. I don't care if I don't need to promise my wife to never spend myself inside another, like they used to back in Philippe's day, or promise her that I would never embrace any other as I do her, like Vlad promised, I don't care that I don't even need to promise to never father children with someone other than her, I don't care, because I would know. I would know I wasn't faithful, I would know I was forsworn, even if I never swore it in the first place. I would know that I was no better a husband that my father was, no better a spouse than my mother was. I would know, and that is too much knowledge for me to bear."

Okay. That was possibly the worst idea Ivan's had all year. "I didn't," he starts very, very carefully, "mean to imply you were honorless, Petya."

"Of course not," Petya agrees viciously. "You just think I would act without any, in the pursuit of private pleasure, and imply that my own sons were bastards because their father was known to seek pleasure from those who were not their mother."

"Uterine replicators make parentage really easy to determine," Ivan says, determined to change the subject by any means necessary, "and we could tell any of your kids, Petya. They'd come out already paranoid that they're bastards and technology just hasn't caught up yet with the truth."

Um.

Oops.

Ivan swears he hadn't meant to actually say that out loud.

It's not his fault, honestly. Miles is possibly dead, Uncle Aral nearly died, and now Petya is picking fights with him. What's next, his mother marrying Simon Illyan?

Petya looks like he's about to slug him, or challenge him to a duel, and then all the air comes out of him all at once. "Ivan," he says, with infinite patience, "your mouth is connected to your brain."

"So is yours," Ivan returns, stung. Um. Not a good idea. Really not a good idea. "Can we just forget the last five minutes?"

"We can _try_ ," Petya mutters.

"People do this," Ivan babbles. "Fight with relatives in hospitals. There's all this, um, tension? And worry, and it all builds up and they take it out on convenient targets, which just happen to be each other. But it doesn't mean anything. You don't think I'm tactless, I don't think you're a bastard, see, and it all goes away once Uncle Aral is better. It's like fast-penta, only you can't be allergic to it."

"You are very gifted at bullshit," Petya says approvingly. "Very well, Ivan. I agree, let's call this a hospital-inducted mutual fast-penta interrogation. It's more polite than other things I could call it."

"It'll all be better when Miles gets back," Ivan babbles on, trying to sound certain of the fact that Miles will, in fact, return, and isn't floating dead in space somewhere, cold and alone and forgotten, and that thought stings at the back of his eyes, "trust me, it'll all be better, and we can shout at him rather than at each other."

"That is an excellent plan," Petya says. He stands up. "I'm going to go check on Da," he says. He offers a hand to help Ivan stand up. "Come on. You can be nephewly and look disappointed with him for straining himself into a hospital bed."

Ivan takes Petya's hand and stands up. "Did it work when you were sonly disappointed with him?" he asks curiously.

"No," Petya says. "Nor when Cordelia was wifely disappointed with him. But it can't hurt to keep trying. But the trying's not the important thing," he continues quietly, "it's the success. I'll count a success when he's out of this place. I can't even think about Miles, not now. I can't afford it. There are too many crises. I have to trust that Miles is out there somewhere, alive, having been taken out of the cryo-chamber by someone interested in keeping him alive, not killing him again. I have to trust that ImpSec can find him, or that Miles will find a way to get in touch on his own. I have to trust that Miles knows who he is, if not necessarily where he is. I have to trust Miles to be Miles. Because when I don't, I want to go up to Illyan and strangle the life out of him for endangering my brother like that. And that's not fair, not fair at all, because I know Miles would've found a way to do this on his own. He's gotten himself into enough trouble in the past. I just have to trust him to be able to get himself out of trouble this time as well as he has before. Trust. That's the important thing now." Petya shakes his head. "I think I'm running out of trust, Ivan."

"I ran out of patience with Miles years ago," Ivan admits. "Because he does this, and I hate it. He gets himself into trouble and then gets himself out of it and he doesn't care that Uncle Aral's hair's turning white, or that Gregor looks crazy around the eyes, or that Aunt Cordelia's being incredibly Betan at people to cope. But then he's here and you just want to hug him and then throw him into ice water until he understands that we care about him and we worry. If he comes back alive," Ivan says, "can I be first in line to strangle him?"

"No," Petya says firmly. "We're Vor, we follow protocol. His mother is the first one who gets to yell at him for this."

"Not Gregor?" Ivan asks, letting Petya lead him towards Uncle Aral's room and the two ImpSec guards stationed at the door, letting you know that, of all the rooms in this part of the hospital, this is the only one that isn't empty.

"She gave birth to him," Petya explains, and then nods to the guards, who open the door and then go back to bland guard stance.

Ivan takes a deep breath and walks inside.


End file.
